


Wanting

by ravenlowe



Series: Wanting [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, functional triad, lyrium withdrawl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenlowe/pseuds/ravenlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme fill: Cullen has never imagined that he could be gay, but the Inquisitor and Dorian are getting close, and Cullen knows jealousy when he feels it.  He's resolved to hide his feelings, but the Inquisitor and Dorian take matters into their own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanting

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the Dragon Age Kink Meme:
> 
> Prompt:
> 
> cullen is straight. he knows he's straight. he's only ever been attracted to women.
> 
> but the inquistor is getting friendly with dorian, and he knows jealousy when he feels it.
> 
> end game: cullen/m!inquisitor or cullen/m!inquisitor/dorian.
> 
> +1 hot, possessive sex complete with biting and dirty talk  
> +1000 dorian taking it upon himself to teach cullen how to please the inquisitor  
> \+ 10,000 for everyone in skyhold talking about their developing relationship

~~x~~

 

They're doing it again.

 

It's nothing the casual observer would notice; just the Inquisitor and Dorian leaning against the battlements chatting with bright, happy tones that carry over to where Cullen is ~~not~~ hiding near the door to his quarters. They do so often enough that life is continuing on around them, but Cullen has watched this escalate with slow-building despair from the first time Dorian swaggered into the War Room in Haven. It started with coy looks and discussions about Tevinter, and has grown into..well..coy looks and discussions about Tevinter, but also something more; something Cullen wishes he could tear his eyes away from, but he's rooted to the spot.

 

He sees what everyone else seems to be ignoring. He sees the way, every-so often, their hands brush together and their fingertips linger-- skin against skin. He sees the Inquisitor turn his head up as it happens and offer Dorian an adoring smile that lights up his entire face. He also sees Dorian, as the Tevinter answers with a coy smile, and a bit of well hidden disbelief, of his own. It's as if the mage can't really believe that he's allowed this, right out in the open. They're beautiful together, so maddeningly beautiful.

 

Cullen sees, and Cullen wants, and isn't that just a punch to the gut? At first his despair was rooted in Dorian's background. Nothing good could come of a Tevinter mage. Since then, Dorian has proved himself an able, loyal friend, to both the Inquisition and Cullen personally.

 

The emotion churning there is an unpleasant one. It churns and crawls up his throat like bile-- robbing him of his voice. It makes him hold his position with his fists clenched at his sided, though he knows he should leave. He's familiar enough with jealousy to recognize it when it rears it's ugly head. Again. The true problem, however, isn't that Cullen /is/ feeling jealous; it's the depth of that jealousy. Anyone might be bothered that two of their closest friends-- and how odd is it to even think that? Cullen hasn't had /close/ friends since the day he joined the Order-- are spending all of their limited free time together. Cullen would have no issues working through the jealousy if that were the case.

 

No, this jealousy is something more visceral, and more than a little troubling. It's that he wants to be, there, where Dorian is standing. Cullen wants those small touches and he wants the Inquisitor's smiles. He wants..well, Cullen doesn't know the entirety of what he wants really, but he knows it involves himself and the Inquisitor, and he wants it so badly hat he _aches_ with it.

 

He's never even fathomed looking at a man and feeling this stirring in his gut and..ah..lower. Cullen thinks he would be more mortified about that if he wasn't so busy being bitter. It echoes uncomfortably of things he last felt in Ferelden's Circle Tower before everything went wrong. He knows now, that the way he handled his feelings then was inappropriate. One of his greatest regrets will always be that he is unable to apologize to Amell. This new situation is near as inappropriate. He should be happy for his friends and that they've found something /good/ in this time of trouble.

 

Cullen is resolved that he is going to get over this. It's just a silly crush. He doesn't even think of men in _that_ way. It's just..

 

Dorian reels the Inquisitor for a kiss that quickly goes from simple peck to heated, and Cullen finds the willpower to tear his eyes from them before the tingle he feels becomes something more and he embarrasses himself. He retreats to the safety of his quarters with flushed cheeks and an uncomfortable hardness in his breeches, where he will not replay the last few minutes over in his mind for any reason.

 

It's understandable, caught up in his own head as he is, that Cullen misses the way their eyes follow _him_ as he goes.

 

~~x~~

 

The next week passes in a series of odd events.

 

Cullen is _sure_ that something strange is going on around him, but he can't seem to piece together what. He catches no less than three people, including Dorian, passing money to Varric who just smiles at him and says, “Don't worry about it, Curly. It's just a harmless wager between friends, annnnd a few casual acquaintances,” but won't say more.

 

When he enters the war room late one afternoon, Josephine and Leliana are standing close, with their heads bent so near that they are almost touching, while whispering furiously between one another. The sight is a familiar one, but the twin smiles they turn upon him when they realize he's there, are not. Cullen doesn't take a step back, though it is a near thing. It's obvious that they know what is going on, and that it involves him, but he's not sure how to ask without making an ass of himself and giving them more ammunition.

 

He's saved by the Inquisitor slipping into the room behind him. He passes so close, that Cullen imagines he can feel the other man's breath on the back on his neck. Even the thought of it makes the small hairs there stand on end. There's a small tug to the back of his sleeve that he must imagine as well, because the Inquisitor is already stepping around him to lean over the map. Cullen can't seem to stop his eyes from following the man's form as he bends in half over the sturdy table to move one of the markers.

 

A cough and a knowing look from Leliana have him flushing and moving into place while trying to preserve what's left of his dignity. Maker help him. His only saving grace is that the Inquisitor hasn't seemed to have noticed a thing, and smiles brightly at Cullen. Cullen's heart skips a beat at the sight of it, and he walks straight into the table in his distraction. So much for preserving his dignity.

 

“Lunch with Dorian and I after we suss out this mess, Commander?” the Inquisitor asks, then huffs, as he knocks over the marker that's set on Ostwick. Talks with his family still aren't going well, then. Cullen nods, as he doesn't trust his voice just yet and begins preparing himself for what is sure to be an awkward meal.

 

Except it isn't near as horrible as his expectations. In fact, it's almost nice-- more than.

 

On a normal afternoon, they dine at one of the long tables in the tavern, but today the Inquisitor pulls him along to the gardens where it seems Dorian is already waiting with a large basket that must have come from the kitchens.

 

“It's about time the two of you got here. I might have frozen to death waiting.” Cullen knows the mage well enough by now to recognize the blustering for what it is-- an opening move.

 

“Perhaps if you actually wore a shirt you wouldn't be so cold all the time,” he fires back with a small teasing grin as he gestures to Dorian's bared shoulder.

 

The Inquisitor laughs and Dorian's eyes light up as he continues the volley. “What, and deprive you all of the glory of my physique? Perish the thought.”

 

“It would be a shame,” the Inquisitor agrees with a straight face. He's corralling them towards a bench that's situated in a patch of bright sunlight that's guaranteed to be warm despite Skyhold's perpetual fall. It's one of Cullen's favorite places to come when the winds atop the battlements are too cutting for all of his rough edges and he just _needs_ to feel the sun on his face. He's never told either of the other men that; it must be a coincidence. “The Inquisition thanks you for the sacrifice of your personal comfort for the sake of morale, Ser. I promise you, it will be rewarded.”

 

“Hm. Ser. I believe that I could get used to hearing that, Your Grace,” Dorian leers, sparking a new round of laughter. “I will think of some suitable ways for you to compensate me.”

 

“A list, perhaps?”

 

“Enumerated.”

 

Their hands brush together again and the lovers share a look that has Cullen's heart sinking. He will get over this. He moves forward to sit on the edge of the bench, but the Inquisitor darts around him to slide into the spot. Cullen rights himself before he can tip over then turns to find that Dorian has taken up residence on the other end, instead of cuddled up against the Inquisitor like Cullen expected. They've left a space for him in the middle, but he's hesitant to take it until Dorian stops unpacking their meal long enough to raise a brow at him. “Well? Aren't you going to sit? I didn't lug this hulking, great basket all the way out here for you to stand and stare at it. If you're going to stare at something, at least have the decency to stare at me.”

 

Cullen fits himself into the spot left for him with a roll of his eyes, “Yes, well, I'm starved, and I can't eat you.”

 

“You could,” Dorian leers again as he passes Cullen a plate. “I have it on good recommendation that I, am delicious.”

 

He knows Dorian is teasing him, but that doesn't stop Cullen from flushing at the mental image the other man's words bring forth. Cullen isn't sure if he's been blessed or damned to have a vivid imagination. It's an asset, strategically, but at times like this when his mind is bombarded by the image of lips trailing over honeyed skin..

 

“Not while he's eating, darling,” the Inquisitor drawls in a tone that draws the former templar's attention. It's not a tone he thinks he's heard from the other man before. It's something warm and dark that takes up residence with the jealousy at the bottom of Cullen's gut and _soothes_ it. “You might make him choke.”

 

The tone appears to have the same effect on Dorian as it does on Cullen. There's a smile on his face that makes Cullen's mouth go dry. He doesn't get the chance to think on the _why_ that is before the conversation his taking off again, and he's missed part of it in his distraction.

 

“I don't believe I like what you're implying, amatus. You'll have to make it up to me later.”

 

“Add it to your list.”

 

“I wouldn't tell him that, Inquisitor,” Cullen jumps back in. “Before you know it he'll have a list of things that could fill up the library.”

 

The three of them fall into their normal volley of conversation after that and soon Cullen is so involved that he forgets to feel jealous at all. He's warm on all fronts. The sun beats down on them creating a small pocket of spring and Cullen's companions sit close. They bracket and nearly crowd him on both sides without quite touching him until the conversation gets heated and in their carelessness, as they gesture, a hand will brush against his shoulder or a thigh will press against his on the bench.

 

It's an enjoyable meal; one that leaves Cullen feeling warm long after they've parted ways.

 

~~x~~ 

 

The next morning Cullen wakes from a fitful sleep, full of Lyrium dreams and nightmares sparked by his jealousy, with a splitting headache and a tremor in his hands that he can't seem to suppress. It's disconcerting having no control over the way his fingertips twitch and jerk. Even when he curls his fingers into a tight fist he can feel the shaking continue. He turns his face back into his pillow with his eyes squeezed closed and tries to just breathe through it all.

 

 _He needs it._ His philter is in his desk, just below the ladder. It would be no trouble at all to slide down and end this torture.

 

_NO._

 

It takes him half an hour to wrestle himself out of bed, but he's determined to face the day. Many of his mornings have been a struggle since he made the decision to stop taking Lyrium. He'll handle this one just as he has all the others-- through sheer force of will alone if he has to. He doesn't need it. _He doesn't need it. He doesn't..._

 

He skips breakfast and heads to the training yard where he knows Cassandra will be waiting. Cullen is already five minutes late for their morning spar, and if he delays any longer Cassandra will be even more brutal in her ire.

 

She takes one look at him and heaves a put-upon sigh. “You look like shit,” she bites out, showing concern in a way that is all her own, and raises her shield. The Seeker respects Cullen and his decisions enough that she doesn't try to talk him out of their practice; nor does she take it easy on him. Cassandra's faith is as awe inspiring at her martial prowess, but Cullen is in no mood to appreciate it today. By the time she runs him into the ground, his headache is robbing him of his vision, and the heat trapped within his armor is sweltering. Even the cool autumn breeze in the yard does nothing to soothe him.

 

Maker, why did he even get up? _Just one little drop and you'll be able._

 

His throat clenches and his muscles ache as he takes his leave of Cassandra to check in with Leliana.

 

Dorian is already in the library when Cullen ducks in from the stairwell. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the sex loft this morning,” the mage quips, friendly enough.

 

Cullen can't seem to stop what happens next; he snaps. “Hold your tongue mage,” he barks out, and immediately regrets. His tone is angry and better even to his own ears. Cullen flinches at the sound of it. Dorian doesn't appear surprised, or even offended, and that make it all the worse. Cullen is supposed to be better than this. He isn't the same man that the wardens found in the Circle Tower. He's not.

 

“I..I'm sorry, Dorian. I'm not myself today.” It echoes hollow in his ears, and his head is pounding. Cullen rubs his fingers across his temple and brow, attempting to chase some of the pain away.

 

Dorian favors him with a measuring look, then turns back towards the shelf he was browsing before Cullen came near. “Duly noted, Commander. I'll let you be on your way. Please, don't feel you need to linger for my benefit.”

 

It's as clear a dismissal as Cullen's ever heard—he's heard more than a few, he was dismissed quite often under Meredith's command-- and Maker help him, he's glad to take it. He braces one hand against the wall to drag himself further up the stairs and resolves to attempt to make things up to Dorian later, if the Tevinter gives him the chance.

 

Leliana's not in the crow's nest. She's in the War Room, because of course she is.

 

Cullen fights the urge to heave himself from the window and instead heaves himself back down the stairs. The library is empty.

 

By the time he makes it to the War Room, Cullen is sweating again. His sleeve is soaked with it from the number of times he's paused to wipe it from his brow. Somehow, he musters the will to enter the room with his head held high. Leliana and the Inquisitor are bent over a piece of parchment, at the far end of the table, talking in hushed tones. Neither look up as Cullen makes his way into the room, and the former templar isn't sure if he's relieved or if he's put upon that he mustered the willpower to act like nothing is wrong for nothing.

 

He heads for the pitcher of water they keep on the edge of the table. They spend long hours in this room, and though the water is never cold, Cullen is thirsty enough not to mind. Anything to relieve the burning in his throat. _Lyrium would be so sweet going_ —no. Water. He's drinking water. He fills a goblet and takes the first drink to realize that the liquid is impossibly cold. It pricks like ice going down, and makes him shiver despite the oppressive heat he was drowning in just moments before.

 

Cullen must make a noise, because when he lowers the goblet, the Inquisitor's eyes are roving over him in a way that makes Cullen's heart jump despite the pounding in his head. The Inquisitor's smile is concerned, but his tone light and casual as he greets Cullen. “Commander, you're here early. Leliana and I will be at this for a while. Why don't you take a seat? There's no point in looming around unless you've grown interested in hearing about the trade deals my father is trying to force on us this week.”

 

He's gesturing at something behind Cullen, who turns to find a plush looking chair that is now a fixture in the corner of the room. He should have noticed it the moment he walked in. It's large and comfortable looking and out of place in the room. Cullen knows what this is. He wants to resist the coddling, but the Inquisitor pins him with a look, and he heads to the corner like a naughty schoolchild. “Very well. I do have some reports to review, and this is as good a place as any.”

 

No one comments that the only thing Cullen has in hand is his half finished goblet of water.

 

The chair is just as comfortable is it looked, and Cullen lets himself sink into it with a sigh. He sips at the remaining water until it's gone then closes his eyes and leans his head back. The Inquisitor and Leliana continue to talk in the background, but the sound barely registers as more than a hypnotic humming. It's calming and... safe.

 

Now that he's still and in a quiet, dark place, Cullen's headache begins to recede, leaving him drowsy. With all the effort that's been put in to making him comfortable, he really can't be blamed for dozing off.

 

~~x~~

 

He wakes some time later, to the sensation of fingers carding through his hair. The War Room is empty except for the Inquisitor, who is kneeling between his legs and looking him over with a concerned expression. Cullen grimaces as he tries to chase the grogginess away, but there's no denying he feels better. The weight that had been dragging him down all morning is gone, and for the moment at least, Cullen is at peace.

 

The Inquisitor must be able to see it in him because he grins and leans closer. “Welcome back. You're looking better.”

 

“I feel better,” Cullen affirms as he becomes aware just how close the Inquisitor's face is to his own. His hands grip at the arms of the chair and he licks his lips before flushing as he realizes what he's done. “It seems you knew just what I needed. Thank you.”

 

Cullen can see flecks, as green as the rift in the sky, in the Inquisitor's eyes. Those eyes seem to trail down to Cullen's mouth back up with a focus that Cullen _must_ be misinterpreting. “Thank Cassandra and Dorian,” the other man deflects. “They were the ones that informed me of your suffering and gave me the means to help you.”

 

Guilt settles over Cullen again for the way he behaved that morning. “I don't deserv--”

 

“Cassandra also left a message for you,” the Inquisitor interrupts, with a stern look. “She said, and I quote, 'I didn't handpick a coward to lead the Inquisition's forces. Get over yourself and--”

 

It's Cullen's turn to interrupt. He gets the idea of where this is going before the Inquisitor can finish, so, in a fit of boldness, he ignores what his mind is telling him about right and wrong and betrayal, then just acts. Cullen leans forward, closing the remaining space between them, and presses their lips together.

 

The Inquisitor doesn't get angry or pull away like he expects. Instead, the man makes a pleased sound and pushes forward until he's straddling Cullen's lap. Cullen feels lightheaded again, but this time it has nothing to do with pain or withdrawal. He can feel the other man's arousal pressed against him, but it doesn't make Cullen want to run for the hills like he thought it would. He wants to pull the Inquisitor closer. He _wants._ Heat builds between them, and he can't help it anymore. He reaches up to cup the Inquisitor's cheek and deepens the kiss.

 

The Inquisitor pulls back only to rest their foreheads against each other. “Finally,” he sighs, breathless, but also content. “I was worried that we were going to have to resort to Dorian's plan. It involves a _fruit basket._ ”

 

Cullen doesn't have the time to ponder the absurdity of that statement before a sharp “Ahem,” from the doorway has him attempting to spring from his chair. He nearly topples the Inquisitor from his lap, but the other man bares down with his thighs and oh. _Oh._ Cullen doesn't think he's been so aroused and guilty at the same time since a Chantry Sister walked in on him pleasuring himself as a teen. Dorian is leaning against the door frame watching the two of them with a guarded look that make's Cullen's stomach drop.

 

He begins to stammer out his apologies, even as his hand is still bunched in the Inquisitor’s shirt and the flush is high on his cheeks, but the Inquisitor turns and gives the Tevinter a wink. It must be some sort of signal between them, because Dorian _stalks_ forward with a swing to his hips that makes the apologies die in Cullen's throat. The kiss he shared with the Inquisitor was chaste compared to the way Dorian presses him against the back of the chair and makes him surrender any semblance of control. It's _indecent,_ and it's _wonderful_.Cullen whimpers when the mage pulls away and he opens his eyes to find he's curled a hand into Dorian's shirt as well.

 

The Inquisitor leans back against Dorian's chest and looks so coy that Cullen can barely breathe. He has no idea what to say, or what to do, and he knows that he is ruining the moment by just staring at them, but he can't help but be enraptured by the way the Inquisitor tilts his head up to brush his cheek against the underside of Dorian's chin without breaking eye contact with Cullen. There's a dare in that look; one that Cullen finds he is more than willing to take.

 

They're waiting for him to panic, he realizes, and maybe he should feel that way. Even in his fantasies, he had never pictured them together _with him._ Cullen doesn't have more than _ideas_ how it works with two men, let alone three, but he thinks they'll be able to figure it out. Hopes. Oh Maker, what is he getting himself into? He swallows, then licks the taste of Dorian and the Inquisitor from his lips. Their eyes narrow on the path his tongue takes, and it's easier now to be bold. “I believe that we have some things to discuss, and this is not the best place for it.”

 

 

Cullen barely remembers the trip from the War Room to the Inquisitor's quarters. It's a haze of faces and whispers and then, a door closing behind them. They don't even make it up to the bedroom at first. The Inquisitor's lips are on his again, and Cullen finds himself pinned back against the door under the weight of both men. The Inquisitor is just tall enough that Cullen has to tilt his chin upwards and Dorian takes advantage of his exposed neck. He looms in close over the Inquisitor's shoulder and licks a strip over Cullen's pulse point before sinking his teeth into the skin. Cullen shudders and pulls back from the kiss. His head thunks against the door and both mouths end up on his neck as hands pull at the stays of his armor. Cullen is riding high on sensation, but it's not enough. There's too much in the way and he wants to _touch._

 

The next time Dorian sucks in a breath, Cullen surges forward to capture his lips. He can feel Dorian smirk into the kiss, and that won't do. Cullen never has reacted very well to teasing. He either blushes or becomes _motivated._ His fingers curl into the Inquisitor's hair and Cullen does his best to communicate every ounce of _want_ that he feels into the kiss. Dorian's not smirking anymore, and Cullen is sure that he hears a whimper that's not his own.

 

“You're just as beautiful together as I expected,” the Inquisitor whispers with the reverence of a prayer. He's trapped between the two of them, Cullen and Dorian, but doesn't seem to mind it. The fur mantle drops from Cullen's back and slides to the floor. “Let's get somewhere we can get all this armor off, hm?”

 

There's two flights of stairs between them and the bedroom, but somehow, they make it up both without incident. Most of Dorian's buckles are hanging open by the time they fall through the doorway. He goes straight for the Inquisitor and begins pulling at clothing, and the Inquisitor pulls at Dorian's in turn. It's almost like watching a dance, the way they strip each other and reveal inch after inch of tantalizing flesh.

 

Cullen feels a moment of indecision. They work so perfectly together. How will he fit between them?

 

His fingers go clumsy on his own armor, but Dorian and the Inquisitor are there, already stripped, to pick up the slack. Cullen's eyes find the Inquisitor's nude form first. It's far from the first time he's seen a naked man, but it is the first time he's felt a _rush_ of arousal at the sight. There's a smattering of freckles across the Inquisitor's chest, and a scar that Cullen finds he wants to taste. Dorian, in contrast, is pristine. There's not a single bump or scar that crosses his flesh, but the planes and angles are just as interesting, if not more defined.

 

Cullen fidgets through the removal of the rest of his armor. The moment the last piece is discarded on the floor he steps forward, and, finding nothing but welcome on the Inquisitor's face, presses his lips to the largest of the freckles on the other man's shoulder. The spot tastes no different than the rest of the Inquisitor's skin of course, but the small dots give Cullen a trail to follow as he explores.

 

Dorian moves around them to settle back against the bed's head board with his legs open in invitation. Cullen can see him, in glimpses, palming his _cock—and oh how Cullen flushes at even thinking that--_ as he watches them with lust-dark eyes full of equally dark promises. The pull he feels towards the bed at that moment _must_ be magic.

 

He takes one step forward, and then another, driving the Inquisitor back towards the mattress. The Inquisitor falls back against Dorian's chest in the space left between the mage's legs and tilts his head up for a kiss. Cullen follows, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight, and allows himself to be pulled down on top of them both. It's a little strange; he's balanced on his knees with his hands braced on Dorian's thighs, but his bedmates seem pleased.

 

It strikes Cullen then; they've discussed this. He can admit now that they've been courting him, but it's beyond that. Their movements are too sure for this to be spur of the moment. The very idea that they've _planned_ for him makes his heart warm and his cock jump. Cullen lowers his lips to the Inquisitor's and digs his fingers into the flesh of Dorian's thighs. Each time they kiss something grows more frantic inside Cullen--something that craves more. Anything. Everything. Whatever he can reach out and take for himself. The Inquisitor lets him have control, and when the other man begins making small, breathy moans into Cullen's mouth, he figures that he must be doing something right.

 

There's fingers in his hair that tug him up and away from the Inquisitor's lips. Cullen glares up at Dorian who looks entirely unrepentant at his interruption. “You're a quick study, Commander, but why stop at his lips when there are other places that are much more interesting?”

 

Dorian's fingers show Cullen where to go, as the Inquisitor pouts. Cullen follows the path to where the Inquisitor's neck meets his shoulders bites down, lightly to hear the other man yelp mid-sentence. “No fair. Now you're both just ganging UP.. _oh.._ on me.” Cullen smirks and does it again to hear the breathy whine. The fingers of the Inquisitor's right hand twitch reflexively against Cullen's back as his left bunches in the sheets. Of course, even now, the Inquisitor is mindful of the Anchor. Perhaps, especially now.

 

“Harder, Commander. Mark him.”

 

Cullen hesitates, but the Inquisitor's hand trails upwards and tangles into the hair at Cullen's nape, pressing down and encouraging him on. He bites down again, sucking and worrying the flesh between his lips until he's sure that a bruise will be left behind. Once he's left one mark, Cullen can't seem to stop. He knows the Inquisitor isn't his and his alone, but the man will wear _his_ marks for days, and remember that it was Cullen that gave them to him. The Inquisitor arches up beneath him, high enough that he can feel the other man's arousal brush wet against his stomach.

 

Cullen is struck again with the sudden desire to see and to touch. He pulls himself away from the Inquisitor to look down between their bodies, and there it is, not so different from his own. Cullen shifts his weight more to his knees, sucks in a breath, and then touches his fingertips to the head. It jumps under his touch, and Cullen almost pulls away. Instead he huffs out a laugh, then wraps his hand firmly around the base.

 

“Oh, skipping right along, I see. How bold.” When he looks back up, Dorian is smirking at him again in a way that makes Cullen roll his eyes, and the Inquisitor is holding himself very still, as if a wrong move would scare Cullen off.

 

Cullen will just have to disprove him of that. He knows what he's doing, and has come to peace with that, for the most part. Yes, he's unsure, but no more than he was his first time with a women. Cullen pulls his fingers up along the Inquisitor's length, then back down while watching the other man's reactions. The Inquisitor's full body twitches, and Cullen can't help but chuckle about how responsive the man is. The weight of it isn't all that different from holding his own. The angle is different, but Cullen is sure he can adapt. He pumps down, then up again, and twists his wrist in the way he favors on himself. The Inquisitor's breath hitches and he begins to thrust up into the circle of Cullen's fingers before catching himself and freezing again.

 

“As much fun as I'm having watching you feel your way around, I'm going to die before the fun part if we keep going at this pace,” Dorian huffs as he leans forward and wraps his fingers around Cullen's. He directs Cullen into a slow rhythm then sinks his teeth into the tendon on the Inquisitor's shoulder.

 

The result is so electrifying Cullen thinks Dorian must have used magic. The Inquisitor shakes and mewls between them, and it's so..so.. _sensual_ that Cullen almost comes without being touched. It only takes a few more pumps for the Inquisitor's control to snap and his hips begin to move in stuttering jerks.

 

“Our Inquisitor, is so easy to please,” Dorian teases as he nuzzles his face into the crook of the Inquisitor's neck. “Give him a mark to show him he's yours, and he's giddy for days. Touch his cock and well, he's--”

 

“I think,” the Inquisitor manages to get out in the middle of a whine, “That Dorian should put that mouth of his to better use, don't you?”

 

Cullen doesn't remember agreeing but what happens next is a dizzying flurry of limbs that somehow ends in a reversal of positions, with Cullen stretched out on his back, the Inquisitor curled next to him, and Dorian hovering over them both.

 

“I'll show you putting my mouth to good work, you attention hog,” Dorian drawls affectionately before ducking in to give the Inquisitor a quick kiss. He moves back over Cullen to give the former templar's neck the same attention that he gave the Inquisitor's, but doesn't stop there. Dorian works his way down to Cullen's collarbone, tracing along the bone with his tongue, then nips a line down his sternum. Soon, Cullen has almost as many bruises as the Inquisitor does freckles, and they stand out in stark blues against his paler skin.

 

A tongue darting into his belly button makes his cock jump against his stomach with a wet smack. Dorian looks down and deliberately tickles across Cullen's abs with his mustache as he runs a thumb over the slit atop of Cullen's arousal, and collects the liquid there. Cullen bucks at the touch, but his eyes are glued to the thumb, as Dorian offers it up to the Inquisitor, who sucks it into his mouth without hesitation. The Inquisitor hums around the finger, pleased at his taste, then pulls back with an audible pop. It's almost too much. Cullen is flushed from his cheeks to his chest, and Maker, this is it; this is how he dies. Then Dorian's lips seal around the crown of his arousal and things are brought to an entirely new level.

 

Cullen is barely aware that he's the one making the small hitched noises that echo in the otherwise quiet room.

 

His eyes clench shut as he does his best not to embarrass himself. It's been too long since he's trusted himself to enjoy the pleasure of more than his own hand, and it would be all to easy to empty himself into Dorian's skilled mouth.

 

He should be paying attention to what Dorian is doing so he has some idea how to do this himself later, but it's hard to fight through all the sensations the mage is causing. There's a tongue lapping at him, delicate and sure, and fingers that scratch into the line of hair that leads from his belly button to his cock. Cullen's body seems to have a mind of its own as he writhes and and curls the fingers of both hands into Dorian's hair. In response, it seems, Dorian pulls back, sucks in a deep breath, then swallows Cullen down whole.

 

“Maker's breath,” he can't help but curse. The air catches in his lungs and Dorian just _holds_ him there. Cullen's entire world becomes centered on the heat of Dorian's mouth, and he can't even fathom how long they stay like that before Dorian pulls back, only to do it again. He's so lost among it all, he doesn't even notice when the Inquisitor leaves his side.

 

Cullen does notice when Dorian chokes, and pulls off him completely, only to heave a long contented sigh. From this angle, Cullen can't see well enough to know for sure, but Dorian's expression is telling. His cheek is flush against Cullen's hip and he huffs small breaths against Cullen's skin. His eyes aren't closed, but lidded with his pupils blown wide. The Inquisitor is behind him, curled forward over Dorian's back, and is pressing small kisses along the mage's spine.

 

Everything else stops and times seems to hang until Dorian's contentment becomes fond annoyance. He cranes his head to look back at the Inquisitor. “You're absolutely ridiculous, you know that?”

 

“You love it,” the Inquisitor huffs between kisses. “Slow or fast?”

 

“Hmm.” Dorian pauses to lick another long strip up Cullen's length. Cullen jumps at the unexpected simulation, and flushes when he realizes he's been staring at the point the Inquisitor and Dorian's bodies meet. The curve of Dorian's back is sinuous, and leads his gaze right up to _there,_ so he can't really be blamed. _Can he?_

 

“Let's leave it up to the Commander. Fast or slow?”

 

It takes Cullen a moment to get what they're asking of him, and when he does, he swallows. How can they possibly expect him to speak right now? He looks from Dorian to the Inquisitor and they're wearing twin bemused expressions, but Cullen can see the underlying tension. He sees it in how the Inquisitor holds himself so still, and feels it in the way Dorian is gripping bruises into this hips. They want to move, but they're _trying_ to wait for Cullen's input.

 

Cullen pretends to think it over, even though he already knows what his answer is, just to see how far he can push them. That plan backfires when Dorian catches on, and pushes back. He seals his lips around the crown of Cullen's arousal and _sucks._ “Holy Andraste! Slow. Go slow.”

 

Dorian pulls back with a pop and smirk that's full of smug satisfaction until the Inquisitor drags his hips back and slides forward again in a single, smooth motion that has Dorian's quip trailing off into a long whine. “That wasn't so ha- _arrrrrd—_ I hate you. Both of you. _”_

 

“You love it,” the Inquisitor repeats, amused, as he does it again.

 

Cullen hasn't through about what it be like to be taken in this way. He's heard rumors, of course, about how painful it could be, but Dorian doesn't seem to be in pain at all; quite the contrary in fact. It's almost startling to Cullen how _pleased_ Dorian is. Can it really feel that good?

 

He wouldn't call the Inquisitor's movements tender, but it's obvious how much he cares for Dorian. The Inquisitor fu— _makes love_ like he does everything else; with the whole of him. Every gasp and twitch Dorian makes seems to be taken into consideration then his pace and intensity are adjusted according to what he sees. He's unhurried, but there's a pressure building in the room all the same. The effect he's having on Dorian is unquestionable; the proof is being scratched into Cullen's hips.

 

Cullen doesn't even mind that Dorian seems to have forgotten what he was doing beforehand, he's so taken with what he's seeing. He rubs his thumb tenderly over Dorian's jaw then down across the Tevinter's lips.

 

Dorian tilts his head up and smiles dreamily at Cullen. “I don't know weather to thank you or curse you, Commander. Come here.” He raises up onto his arms and gives Cullen room to slide down underneath him.

 

Up close, it's easier to hear the small moans Dorian is making. For someone who spends so much time making noise, he seems determined to keep his moans quiet. It's endearing and amusing, and perhaps, knowing what he does of Dorian, a little heartbreaking. Cullen draws up onto his elbows so he can trail kisses along Dorian's jaw. “I never imagined this,” he admits into Dorian's ear. “I _wanted,_ but never even allowed myself to hope. I _never_ would have--”

 

Dorian cuts him off with a tender smile and an even more tender kiss. “I know. _We_ know, and that's why you're here now.”

 

The Inquisitor leans his weight forward and pushes the men under him flush against each other. “Mine,” he whispers, and Cullen can now _feel_ every thrust. He rocks along with Dorian, caught in the ebb and flow of the Inquisitor's motions. He's not the one being taken, but he's still a part of them. It's perfect; anything more would be too much to Cullen's already overwhelmed psyche.

 

The Inquisitor plants his right fist into the mattress beside Cullen's head for leverage, and Cullen reaches up to loop his fingers around the other man's wrist without stopping to think about it. He can feel how the Inquisitor's pulse is jumping and pounding despite the almost serene expression on his face. His thrusts are slow, as promised, but they are no less intense than they would be if he were pounding Dorian, and Cullen, into the mattress. It's a mix of contrasts Cullen didn't think was possible-- unhurried, yet urgent.

 

None of them are going to last for much longer.

 

Dorian takes Cullen's free hand in his own, and somehow wedges the arm down between them. “Please,” Dorian whimpers, the need in the word almost enough to break Cullen. Cullen gets the idea and wraps his fingers around both of their arousals together. They're pressed so close that it's difficult to get a good grip, but Cullen is determined to do this for Dorian, and himself. He's been on edge for far too long, and even with the slide of Dorian's cock against his, the feel of Cullen's own callouses against his skin is a relief. The touch is something familiar in a sea of _new._

 

Cullen thrusts up into the circle of his fingers, and against Dorian, as Dorian removes his own hand so he shift his weight to that arm. The mage trails his fingers up Cullen's neck, through his hair, and then twines those fingers through the ones Cullen has wrapped around the Inquisitor's wrist. It's silly, and Cullen will blush about it later, but that it, _that's_ the thing that pushes him over the edge. His body seizes, caught in the throes of the strongest orgasm he's ever experienced. A startled sound escapes his lips at the suddenness of it, and his vision blanks.

 

When he comes back to himself, Cullen finds his orgasm has set off a chain reaction.

 

The Inquisitor is curled so far forward that his forehead is resting against the nape of Dorian's neck. “Mine,” he pants. The word is possessive, but it sounds more like a plea falling from the Inquisitor's lips. “You're so beautiful, and mine. The both of you. Won't mess it up. Gonna make you so happy. As long as you stay. Always.”

 

It strikes Cullen again how rare this man is. He knows very little of what the Inquisitor's life was like before the Conclave, but how anyone could have missed his compassion and goodwill before is beyond him. Even now, when most would be concerned with seeking their own pleasure, the Inquisitor is speaking of making others happy.

 

“Yours,” Cullen whispers, finding he means it in a way he hasn't before. He's in far too deep. The feeling that's moved from his gut to his chest is more than want, it's love, but really how could the Inquisitor inspire any less? His feelings for Dorian aren't as intense, but also, aren't so different. Given the time, if he's allowed it he could easily grow to...

 

There's a niggling doubt in the corner of his mind that, despite the Inquisitor's words of possession, this is it. They've given him his chance to get his _want,_ out of his system, and once it's over he'll be expected to go on as they were before.

 

“Yours,” Dorian echoes. His voice is wrecked and his expression matches. It's devastating and beautiful, and Cullen's glad that he's already come so he can witness it with a clear head. “For as long as you'll have me amatus. Until the end of time.”

 

He presses an affectionate kiss that tickles to the corner of Cullen's mouth before groaning. Cullen ducks his head, in answer and bites down hard into Dorian's neck, to mark the mage as he had the Inquisitor earlier. They might not be trading hushed oaths of desire and love, but Dorian _will_ wear Cullen's mark all the same.

 

Dorian's reaction to the bite is far more than Cullen expected. He lets out a string of curses that would make Cullen blush if he weren't so done in, and spills all over Cullen's hand and stomach. The Inquisitor follows Dorian over the edge. He's quiet about it, but Cullen can can feel, from where he's trapped under a still twitching Dorian, the man's thrusts stutter, then cease, as his muscles cord, and he empties himself inside of Dorian.

 

Cullen idly kisses a line along the side of Dorian's neck, and they collapse into a tangled heap of limbs. The former templar wants to bask in being surrounded by warmth and safety, but the arm that's still trapped between himself and Dorian is beginning to tingle and it's getting uncomfortable. He stands it for as long as he is able until, after one last kiss he complains, “I think my arm is falling asleep.”

 

The spell is broken and the Inquisitor begins chuckling lightly. The laughter grows and spreads until all three of them are snickering. The Inquisitor carefully withdraws then rolls to one side, as Dorian huffs and rolls to the other. They settle in around Cullen who is pleased to note that, despite the mess smeared across his stomach, he feels no less warm, or _safe._ “Is it always like _that_?” he asks, not even sure how to quantify _that._ Good? Overwhelming? Intense?

 

It's Dorian who answers, “No, and thank the Maker for that. I don't think I'm going to be able to move for days, you insatiable cretins!”

 

“You. Love. It.” The Inquisitor tells him for the third time since they fell into bed, and the contentment on Dorian's face shows the comment to be true. He starts to fling an arm across Cullen's middle, but pauses when he notices the mess. Cullen tenses as he braces himself to stand, if only to clean up, but the Inquisitor stops him before he can move with a hand in the middle of his chest. “Don't move. There's a rule.”

 

Even though he should be exhausted, the Inquisitor bends and begins to _lick_ the spend away. Cullen's eyes cross and his cock twitches despite his own exhaustion at the feel of that warm tongue working it's way across his middle painting wet stripes that cool in the afternoon air. When he's satisfied, the Inquisitor leans across Cullen's chest to give Dorian a quick kiss. The mage rolls his eyes and huffs, but seems unconcerned about what the Inquisitor was just doing. The Inquisitor pulls back with a smile, but hesitates before doing the same to Cullen. Again, it has to be Cullen who closes in the space between them, and he does so with only the tiniest hesitation. Yes, he can taste the spend on the Inquisitor's lips, but it's not so unpleasant.

 

Cullen has more important matters on his mind. “There's a rule?”

 

“No leaving the bed for at least three hours,” Dorian parrots as he begins scooting up the bed and dragging Cullen right along with him.

 

The Inquisitor follows by heaving himself upwards into the empty space and flopping half over Cullen and Dorian both. “I don't like waking up alone,” he mummers into Cullen's shoulder. The exhaustion has set in now and left a limpet behind.

 

“Me either,” Cullen confesses as Dorian scowls.

 

“You do something one time, and suddenly there rules. There's a list somewhere in the desk. I wrote them all down.”

 

Cullen can't contain it anymore. He's comfortable here-- happy even, and the longer he stays the harder it will be to leave when they tire of him. “What _is_ this?” He has to know.

 

He's already preparing himself for the dismissal and for the hurt when the Inquisitor looks up at him. “It's whatever _you_ want it to be,” he says so soft Cullen has to strain to make the words out. There's a vulnerability there that he's only seen glimpses of before. The arm slung across Cullen's chest tightens, and part of Cullen settles. The Inquisitor wants him here, but there's still Dorian to consider.

 

Cullen turns to find Dorian looking at him with a disgusted expression. “What? You think this was _his idea?_ The poor boy was about to throw himself off a parapet with the angst of a heart torn in two.”

 

“Boy? I'm older than you!” The Inquisitor interrupts only to have Dorian shush him.

 

“Not now, amatus, I'm dispelling the Commander of his silly notion that I'm somehow put out by his presence.” Dorian pins him with a look and continues on. “Your concern for my heart is touching, but unneeded. Ours might not be the greatest story ever written, for the moment, but I like you, Comma—Cullen, and I love him enough to try. None of us are so naive to think it will be easy between the three of us, but no relationship is. He wants _us,_ and I want to _try._ The only question left is what do _you_ want?”

 

Cullen flounders as he tries to put it into words. He's not done questioning his place here—if he really deserves to be, not between them, but with them—but Dorian has done well to put many of his fears to rest. How to answer? He wants to play chess with Dorian and argue strategy with the Inquisitor. He wants to touch. He wants to sleep here with them. He wants.. “I want _everything._ ”

 

That seems to be answer enough. Both men smile as they settle back down. The Inquisitor places another chaste kiss against Cullen's shoulder then closes his eyes. A nap seems to be next on their agenda, and Cullen can't complain. He's done in. It isn't what he imagined, but Cullen looks forward to seeing how things go. For his part, he's resolved to do anything he can to make this feeling last. Their futures are uncertain enough as it is. One things he knows, if today is any indication, he certainly won't be left _wanting._

 

 ~~x~~

 

Cullen is just drifting off when something strikes him and his eyes fly open. He rouses the Inquisitor by poking him in the side until the man's eyes crack open. The Inquisitor blinks at him and groans, “Wha?”

 

He's adorable while drowsy, and Cullen stores that away for later use. “One last question. Did Cassandra really tell you to tell me those things?”

 

The Inquisitor frowns and takes a moment to process the question before grinning at Cullen drowsily. Again. Cute. “She did. Today's her day in the pot. Oh Maker, imagine Varric's face when he finds out she won.”

 

Well, there's nothing Cullen can say to that, except maybe _Thank You._

**Author's Note:**

> So this was fun! I'm loving this triad right now. Thanks again to the original prompter, who kept me going with amazing feedback, and to everyone else chilling out at the kinkmeme. I don't know if I'm going to fill anymore prompts. I might just keep writing in this verse, who knows?


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